Not Particularly Poetic
I never actually saw my life pass before my eyes. It's occurred to me, that maybe, when they say that, they mean it poetically. That they're talking about everything that happened beforehand. Anyways, I've never been a particularly poetic guy, and despite the more pressing concerns, I had been looking forward too it, or at least, some of it. I did want to see that squirrel again, before it died in it's shoebox deathbed, surrounded by tissues and tidbits of food we hoped it would eat. I didn't want to see Margaret, walking with him hand in hand. Perhaps its a bit trivializing, but it was kinda like missing a high school reunion. It was something, that while you wanted the experience, you knew you wouldn't enjoy it. Well, Jacob enjoyed them, but then again, he was the sort of person who ruined it for the rest of us. Still, at the moment, I didn't begrudge him his success, and even missed seeing him one last time. And Mark. And William. And Ryan. And that kid next door who I couldn't remember his name for the life of me, even though at the time we were sure that we would be friends forever. And as the ground comes closer to my head; I realize, we never had a chance. No one did, no one does, and I'd like to say no one will, but I won't be around to see for myself, and I'll never meet the ones who might, and hear them say, "I told you so." Its weird to think about, and I've never been a particularly poetic person, so I just wonder...how much is this going to hurt?